


Distance Is Relative

by Kerkerian



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Papa Jack, Some Fluff, Team as Family, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: Once again, it's a close shave. As Mac gets hurt, his team aren't the only ones worrying about him.
Relationships: Angus MacGyver & James MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 134





	Distance Is Relative

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own MacGyver.
> 
> This is set sometime towards the end of season 2, before Mac meets his dad again.

Being trapped is awful. It raises primal fears and makes Jack's hair stand on end, especially when Mac doesn't immediately get that look on his face that tells him not to worry, because there's going to be a way out of there. When Mac is barely conscious however, as is the case right now, their cause seems lost entirely. Jack is out of ammo too, and for some reason, they've lost all communication with the rest of their team a while ago.

Jack's head is reeling: he's looking around the room frantically while he tries to staunch the bleeding, eliciting small, breathless gasps as he puts pressure on the wound just below Mac's ribs. Jack is certain that no one should lose so much blood so fast, which is making it kind of hard to keep calm and think straight. The fact that there are people of the unsavoury sort on the other side of the heavily reinforced steel door, people who want to get in and are trying to break said door down right now, is not helping.

“I'm sorry, buddy,” Jack breathes, ignoring the ominous banging sounds. “Gotta stop the flow.”

“J'ck,” Mac mutters. “Try... pow'r outl't.”

“What? That one over there? What should I try?” Jack realizes he's babbling, but the shirt he's pressing on the wound, his own shirt that was once a light grey, is soaked by now, and he's beginning to panic. Mac's white as a sheet, and his voice is barely there. His hand scrabbles at Jack's, trying to give him his knife and a curious contraption he's cobbled together just now.

For once, Jack would love to hear a long and complicated explanation for it. Instead, he takes the thing, ducking his head to hear his friend's next words, which are coming out entirely too laboured, then nods: “Okay. Okay, I'll do that. But you gotta do this for me, okay?” He reaches for Mac's free hand, momentarily startled by how cold it feels, and puts it firmly onto the shirt. “Here, press down on it as best as you can.”

Mac tries, giving another pained gasp, but Jack can see that it's taking all he's got.

Therefore, getting to his feet and the short distance away from his partner is almost impossible, but if he doesn't, they might not get out of here alive. At least Mac won't. And Jack can't let that happen. So he all but lunges over to the far wall and begins to pry the socket enclosure out with Mac's knife, following his friend's instructions in order to install the small doohickey. A few seconds later, his earpiece comes to life. Jack breathes a sigh of relief: he never doubted it'd work, unless he didn't use it right.

“Jack!” he hears Riley's alarmed voice. “What's going on? I lost you!”

For a moment, Jack's voice doesn't obey him at all; the fear of losing someone can do that to a person, and he's made the mistake to glance over at Mac just now, who's looking terrible.

“Can you locate us?” he then asks, mentally kicking himself in order to not lose any more time. “We need to get out of here ASAP, Riles. Mac's been shot, and he's bleeding too much. But we're trapped here, and Petersen's people are right outside. I don't know for how long though.” It's become quiet in the meantime, which doesn't bode well.

“Yeah, I've got you,” Riley says, her voice quivering for a moment. “We're on our way. We got this.” There's a pause, then she adds: “Get Mac into the far corner and face the wall, okay?”

Jack crouches down next to Mac: “I gotta move you, kiddo,” he says gently. Mac nods infinitesimally; he trusts Jack to do the right thing. As soon as Jack hoists him up however, he turns even whiter, then he goes limp, his arms falling to his sides.

“Oh no, don't you leave me here,” Jack mutters while he heaves Mac over to the corner, where he huddles down as best as possible, shielding Mac with his own body and pressing his bare hand on the wound. It's a horrible sensation to feel the warm blood welling out sluggishly but constantly underneath his palm. “Mac?”

Mac doesn't react. But now the pounding on the door is back, and it sounds... louder. _Bigger_.

“Riley? They're gonna breach any second!”

“Don't worry,” Riley's voice is reassuringly calm now. “So are we.”

And then, the ceiling explodes.

Shouting a number of select expletives, Jack crouches even lower, wrapping his arms around Mac's head and ducking down as far as his position allows. He can feel the impact of debris on his back, but once the pain and noise stop, there's light, and even though the air is full of dust, it's beautiful.

The next few hours are a bit hazy in hindsight. In the transporter that takes them to safety, Jack holds on to Mac with every bit of strength he's got left, one hand on a fresh piece of cloth that he's pressing on the wound, though he's got no idea where that came from, the other on Mac's midriff, just to feel him breathing. The boy's too still, and his skin feels cold and clammy. This seems worse than the last time, or maybe he's forgotten how scared he was back then, at Lake Como. How he couldn't stop trembling long after Mac had been taken into the operating theatre.

“Stay with me,” Jack keeps repeating into Mac's ear; the latter's leaning back against him, his head cushioned between Jack's shoulder and his cheek, a welcome weight. “Stay with me, kid.”

He's vaguely aware of the others, of a hand on his shoulder and voices talking to him, but they don't really register. However, neither does the pain. Therefore, it comes as a complete surprise that Jack is injured himself, not even having noticed it because of the adrenaline and his entire focus being on Mac.

So when they finally reach their exfil and find a medevac chopper waiting, his relief doesn't last long. In fact, he can't seem to let go of Mac first, and once he does, he can't get up. And then, despite people shouting at him, he just allows his eyes to close and falls into the encroaching darkness.

Riley stares at Jack with the same unhappy expression that's mirrored on Bozer's face, who's sitting by Mac's bed in the ICU. They are both grateful for their somewhat extended visitation rights, namely for Matty's ability to intimidate people even over the phone, because they're still a long way from home: in Switzerland, to be precise. And while the mission was a success on the whole, they also feel far from victorious, not when half of their team is in the hospital, and not even on the same ward at that.

Blinking, Riley subdues a yawn: she's been sitting here for hours, waiting.

Jack opened his eyes a few times already, but he wasn't aware of his surroundings and soon dropped off again. When the ceiling caved in, one large piece of debris pierced his back and had to be removed surgically. Apart from that, he's probably black and blue all over and going to feel it once he'll be off the stronger pain medication.

With Mac, it was touch and go for a while; the bullet caused a lot of internal damage and some considerable blood loss. In combination with the shock, all that put quite a strain on his system. Involuntarily, Riley shudders: she's never seen a person so drained of all colour, and she can't imagine what would have happened if they hadn't been in time. She's never seen Bozer so shocked either, she's certain of that. While both of them were waiting together, a few hours ago, he didn't sit down once, he was too agitated and kept pacing around the room. And now he's with Mac, and Riley wishes she could be in two places at once. However, she can't leave Jack alone either, and even though she dreads it, it'll probably be her job to tell him what's going on with Mac.

Bozer blinks. His eyes are burning from fatigue and feeling gritty, but he wouldn't dream of leaving Mac's side. He knows that the hospital is making an exception for them, but he also knows that he would be here no matter what, even if Matty hadn't gotten them clearance. Somehow, he'd be here, because anything else is inconceivable.

The nurse on duty gives him sympathetic looks every time she checks on his friend: “He's holding his own,” she says at one point, even smiling a little. Bozer smiles back, but it's an automatic response; he doesn't care what others think of him right now, he just wants Mac to be alright. Jack told him about Lake Como, an echo of real fear still visible in his eyes even then, but it's still so much worse when one experiences something like this in person. He feels helpless, and there's a dread he can't shake. He isn't prepared to lose his best friend, his brother; not now, not ever. It's probably showing on his face, and he knows that the nurse means well. He just can't quite believe it yet. Mac looks like death warmed over, pallid and frail, too lifeless altogether.

Bozer keeps staring at his chest, at the rhythmic motion he can see as it rises and falls ever so subtly, and if this stops, he knows that his world will end as well.

James MacGyver, despite his many skills, is not perfect. There are a lot of things he can never get right, which would probably surprise some people. His singing for example is rather off-key on the best of days, but his cooking is even worse. He can make some decent scrambled eggs, but that's about all he's capable of in the kitchen if one doesn't count burnt things, because at the end of the day, cooking is not exactly like chemistry after all, where the taste of something is a rather negligible result.

And the list goes on.

One thing James has always been able to do though, without fail, is to close his eyes and conjure up images of his son. The boy's features have changed over the years, but James can see it all, like a kaleidoscope: Angus just after he was born, a tiny red thing with impossibly delicate limbs. James can still recall how strong those tiny fingers were even then. How it felt to hold the baby.

Angus as a toddler, a small child playing with building blocks. A little boy who was proud to be starting school. Who called for him at night when he had woken up and was terrified of the darkness. Who loved to construct things. All he needed were his Legos and you wouldn't hear a peep from his room for hours.

Well. If you listened carefully, you could sometimes hear him explaining what he was doing and why, to a silent audience that consisted of his favourite stuffed animals. If James had the time, he'd join Angus, only to be amazed by the way the boy's mind worked. The things he built usually had a purpose. James never forgot how Angus would pause every now and then, considering his work, his face rigid with concentration.

Of course, it's not only Angus he kept thinking of, it's Angus and Ellen. It's impossible to separate the two, but there's a before and an after. Both hurt equally bad.

Just as these pictures in his mind are precious, the pain is limitless and raw. Right after she died, he couldn't bear to think of his wife and yet she haunted him, occupying his every thought and following him into his dreams. So he stopped sleeping for a while. To this day, he doesn't know how he kept it together, or if he did at all; he doesn't remember it all too clearly.

When he finally left home, years ago, it was the same with Angus: he couldn't bear to think of his son either, but he saw him in his mind every time he closed his eyes. And he kept wondering what Ellen would say. If she'd understand, or if she'd despise him for abandoning their boy.

So again, he barely slept, avoided to allow himself to think of Angus. Whenever it became too much to bear, he'd take out the photos he'd taken along and look at them, which invariably had him breaking down and cry. He hated the feeling of weakness, but he hated himself worse for leaving his child, and he missed Angus more than he could comprehend. Missed the family he had. He had a good reason for leaving, which was what he had to tell himself whenever he'd reached this point, couldn't afford to give in and simply go home. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

Eventually, he tried a different approach. Instead of trying not to think of his son too much, he started to look at photos of him again, the ones he had taken along and those his dad sent him on a regular basis. Later, he also used various video feeds. Initially, it hurt to watch the boy. It hurt that Angus didn't have any way of understanding why his dad left him. And yet. He kept doing it, it was like an obsession.

Eventually, it became the one thing that got him through the days. Just looking at Angus, either in a photo or a video feed, was soothing James' soul to the same degree it had previously pained him, and he couldn't stop doing it anymore.

When Angus finally shipped to Afghanistan, James once more barely slept during the first few weeks. It didn't get easier with time, but he quickly realized that his son actually knew what he was doing; he wasn't reckless but methodic and as collected as was humanly possible under the circumstances, and he'd been partnered with the best man they had out there, which wasn't a coincidence.

Fortunately for all involved, Jack Dalton and Angus didn't take long to overcome their initial differences and began to forge a very solid friendship. If anyone can get themselves out of whatever tight spots might come their way, it's this team.

For that, James will never stop being grateful. And now that Angus is working for the Phoenix Foundation, accessing visual data is limitless.

It's not always easy, being Oversight. It's even more difficult when the things he sees in those video feeds involve their agents getting hurt, or worse. It's nearly unbearable when it's Angus who's getting hurt, or worse. He nearly died more than once.

There is no video feed of him getting shot at Lake Como, and that's one of the most awful moments James can remember: hearing Jack Dalton's frantic voice, telling Thornton what happened, that Angus and Nikki had been injured, without being able to know how bad it was. If they were still alive at all. If not for Dalton, Angus probably wouldn't have made it.

But now, once again, Angus is lying in a hospital bed looking wan and far too inanimate, and James is hunching in on himself as he watches him, unable to stand upright because the fear of losing his son is almost physically painful.

He wishes he could be there. He is glad that Bozer is, but at the same time, he's jealous that it can't be he who's holding Angus' hand, who's keeping vigil. James is aware that he's never been one to show his emotions, and he strongly suspects that he'd be crap at it if he tried, but this here... he'd have wanted Angus to know that he wasn't alone, just as he would have wanted him to know it all these years. He couldn't do that before and he can't do it now though. But even if he could- it's probably not him Angus would want anyway. Not anymore.

For a moment, he hangs his head, feeling terribly defeated. He should really learn to box his feelings up in order to protect himself from things like these. He just doesn't know if he wants to, especially when it comes to personal matters. Or if he'll be able to at all.

Much later, when it's clear that Angus is over the worst, when he opens his eyes and is lucid enough to more or less respond to Bozer and the hastily summoned nurse, James sits down for the first time in hours, shaking with relief. He zooms in a little and studies their faces, and suddenly, he's very glad that Bozer is there with his son, is providing the love and affection Angus needs. Bozer's expressive face is relieved as well, and he's beaming even while he's talking rapidly.

In fact, Bozer can't stop anymore now that Mac's awake. Well, to be fair, he's rather groggy and probably won't last long, but that doesn't matter. His vitals keep improving, as the nurse tells him, and the doctor who comes in shortly afterwards confirms it.

“You'll be alright,” Bozer says softly, gently squeezing his friend's hand, just as Mac's eyes are already closing again.

Long after Mac's gone back to sleep, Bozer is still giddy. So much so, in fact, that it's making James smile: always bouncing back quickly, this guy. His genuinely kind, honest and somewhat quirky persona is exactly why Angus and he have become such close friends: he's the perfect counterpart for Angus' sometimes too serious and troubled mind. From what James witnessed (and heard from his father), Bozer and Angus complemented each other pretty much from the start, and they still do now.

When Mac wakes up the next time, just after midnight, Bozer's been dozing a little but jerks awake when he hears his friend trying to clear his throat.

“Hey, buddy,” Bozer mutters, blinking the grid in his eyes away and getting to his feet. He reaches for the obligatory cup of water on the nightstand and offers Mac the straw. He sips gratefully, then gives a relieved little sigh.

“I remember feeling parched after waking up too,” Bozer says.

Mac regards him: “Thanks. Being 'ere."

Bozer feels a slight squeeze around his hand and gently squeezes back: "I love you, man. You know that, right?"

A smile flits over Mac's face: "Know. Love you too." He takes a careful breath: "Look tired. Should go sleep, Boze.”

“What, me? Nah, I'm good. Just rested my eyes for a bit.”

This elicits another tiny smile: “S'riously,” Mac mutters, but then his expression tenses all of a sudden. “Jack?”

“He's gonna be fine,” Bozer says. “He's a little banged up too, but Riley's with him.”

Mac frowns: “What 'appened?”

Bozer looks contrite: “We had to blow up the ceiling of the room you were in. With all the stuff flying about, Jack got hit in the back.”

Mac looks so dismayed that Bozer hurries to reassure him: “It's nothing life-threatening. He's just... you know him. He didn't even notice it until we hit exfil.”

Mac is clearly still worried, but he's also exhausted. “Gonna tell 'im to always wear Kevlar...” His voice peters out before he's finished the sentence, and he closes his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer.

Bozer, who vividly remembers his own stint in the hospital after being stabbed, waits for a few minutes longer; when Mac is obviously asleep and breathing evenly, he walks over to an armchair in the far corner and makes himself comfortable; he wouldn't dream of leaving.

On the following morning, Mac's being transferred to a post-surgical ward. Not long after he's been settled in his new room, the door opens and Jack is being pushed in in a wheelchair by Riley.

Mac's tired face lights up when he sees his friend; Jack's own anxious expression softens as he takes everything in, and he can't stop his eyes from getting moist. “Hey, Mac,” he croaks, doing his best to keep it together. “Had to see how you're doing, kiddo.”

“I'm fine,” Mac mutters, who's mercifully unaware how pale he is, how feeble his voice. Combined with the medical equipment around him and the blood he's still receiving in order to replenish the lost volume, it only emphasizes what he's been through, and Jack is just glad that they made it to exfil in time.

“You?” Mac now asks.

“Oh, it's just a scratch. They're gonna let me out tomorrow.”

Jack grins, but then he reaches out until he can touch Mac, closes his fingers around his friend's hand and holds on tight. Mac does his best to do the same; after a while, his grip slackens because he dozes off, but that's alright. He's still here, that's all that matters.

When Jack woke up properly for the first time early that morning and heard what had been going on, he immediately wanted to get up and see his boy. In the end, it took two nurses, a doctor and Riley threatening to sit on him for him to calm down, but he had been on tenterhooks until he was finally cleared to go visit his friend.

Riley and Bozer eventually go to get some rest later that morning, once Jack is back in his own room, resting. He'd never admit it, but he's actually glad to be lying down again for a bit. Briefly, he considered asking to be transferred to the same room earlier, but since he's going to be released soon, he decided to let it go. From the looks of it, Mac's going to be sleeping most of the time anyway.

With the intention of going back to Mac's room later nevertheless and his relief still palpable, he closes his eyes.

Almost bleeding to death really takes it out of a guy. When the nurses make Mac walk for a bit on the following day, he strongly resembles an old man.

“Or maybe a giraffe grandpa.” Jack, who isn't allowed to help because of his own healing back, earns himself a glare.

“What? It's only logical if you think about it- they got freakishly long legs just like you, and they totter about just...” He gestures at Mac. "Just like that."

Mac only rolls his eyes; he doesn't have the energy to concentrate on walking and talk at the same time. In fact, he's relieved when he's back in bed; despite the heavy-duty medication, there's a deep-seated ache in his body, and his limbs are unusually heavy. Lying down seems the thing to do right now.

Even if he didn't feel like he's been hit by a freight train, it's obvious that it was another close shave, judging by the others. Matty's already called twice and sent a massive bouquet of flowers, while Bozer and Riley didn't stay away long on the previous day, and even though they still looked exhausted, they made light of it.

As does Jack, who by rights should still be resting himself, yet here he is. He's wearing a new shirt and a broad smile.

Underneath his carefree demeanour though, he is slightly tense, and he's exuding what Mac has come to think of as a magnetic exitance. Which, strictly and technically speaking, doesn't even exist, but to Mac, it makes perfect sense. It means that a) Jack won't lose that last bit of tension until Mac is out of the hospital and able to move around under his own steam (which is understandable, considering the complications that developed after Mac was shot for the first time, which involved a persistent fever and had not only Jack worried back then but pretty much everyone involved), and b) he will be glued to his partner more firmly than usual for the foreseeable future, just as he did after Lake Como. He'll probably even camp out on Mac's couch.

And Mac's fine with it, because the next few weeks aren't going to be easy. Much as he hates to admit it, he'll undeniably need some time to get back to his feet and regain his old strength. Of course, Bozer and the others will also be there, and he's grateful for that. In fact, when he woke up and found Bozer at his side, bleary-eyed but soon very obviously tentatively relieved, it once more made him appreciate his quasi-brother and what they meant to each other.

He'll need Jack more than ever, however, especially if something unforeseen happens, like Murdoc. Apart from that, he'll need Jack just because.

He doesn't remember much after getting shot and barricading themselves in that room, but he remembers Jack's solid presence, which was immensely reassuring. It always is, but it's moments like those, when you feel the life draining out of you ever so slowly and can't be sure that this is the kind of trouble you'll actually get out of again, that you need someone like him.

In hindsight, it sounds cheesy and Mac's scientist soul cringes a little because it's the opposite of factual knowledge, but it wasn't only the notion that Jack was doing what he could to save them or the knowledge that he'd defend Mac to the end if the room was breached- it was the feeling of security one got from being loved. From knowing that there was someone there who cared, someone kind and capable of showing affection; someone who regarded it as a privilege to call him 'kid' or 'my boy' or sometimes even 'son' because they meant it. Because he _was_ their boy.

Which incidentally was also the reason why Mac fought with everything he had, despite the pain and the coldness that was steadily overcoming him: he couldn't leave Jack either. You go kaboom, I go kaboom.

Kinda applies universally for them, he now thinks.

Jack raises his eyebrows questioningly: “Why're you smiling?”

“It's nothing,” Mac says softly. “Just... glad you got me.”

As Jack regards him now, a fond smile slowly spreading on his own face, his eyes are actually getting a bit moist: “Likewise,” he replies gravelly.

For a moment, they are silent, then Jack clears his throat: “So, you up for a round of Scrabble, kiddo? You and me against Riley and Bozer, once they're back from their coffee run?”

“Why not,” Mac mutters. “If you do all the manual work.”

“Gladly, as long as you do the thinking.”

“When am I ever not doing that?”

“Ha, good question! A memorable night in Saint-Tropez comes to mind.”

“Oh no, that doesn't count. They used Rohypnol...”

“Still- it counts, my friend. It counts.”

“On the contrary. I vote we'll never talk about it again, just like Cairo.”

“Oh God, don't remind me...”

“But I will, if you keep talking about Saint-Tropez.”

“Okay, okay. I'm calling a truce.”

“Wise choice.”

Jack beams, basking in the normality of their banter, which is doing wonders for his bruised heart. And even though Mac falls asleep halfway through the game, resulting in their team losing spectacularly, he feels a little more relaxed, because his boy is going to be fine. And since he isn't planning on taking his eyes off Mac ever again, he is going to make sure it stays that way.

“Don't you worry, kid,” he mutters, later, when it's just the two of them, and despite Mac still being sound asleep. “I'll always watch over you.”

James MacGyver watches how Jack Dalton reaches out and gently strokes Angus' cheek with the back of his fingers, how he stays next to the bed for a while, just looking at his partner, before he finally goes to sit down.

“That makes two of us,” James mutters, his voice flat. Life consists of choices, and it's futile to cling to a past that's no longer there, or to ponder the what ifs when there'll never be an answer.

His son is not alone and in the best of hands. He's found a family, he's happy where he is. If James keeps telling himself so, he can almost believe it.

For a moment, he keeps looking at his sleeping boy, just as he loved to do when Angus was little: “Good night, duckie,” he says softly, then he turns away from the screen.

Things to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not a Native Speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.


End file.
